


Martyr

by BlueTeaParty



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Modification, M/M, Permanent Bondage, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 01:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10478835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTeaParty/pseuds/BlueTeaParty
Summary: Fen'harel has finally succeeded in razing Tevinter to the ground and erecting an Elvhen empire in its place, but he has not forgotten about Dorian Pavus, who is currently a prisoner of war in his kingdom, captive, but well-cared for under the Dread Wolf's protection.Dorian fought to change Tevinter right up until the bitter end, and the Wolf finds that admirable, albeit incompatible with his own goals. What better way to reward such commitment than to make Dorian the Dread Wolf's favourite courtesan?





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love seeing Dorian suffer <3
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16500.html?thread=63507060#t63507060 >crossposted at the Kink!meme

“My fellow elves!” Fen’harel addressed the mass gathered in front of him, his chosen generals at his side. They were standing in the former Grand Hall of the Magisterium, in the centre of what was previously known as Minrathous. The Hall had been left as a symbol of the decadence of the Tevinter Empire, a reminder of the sins of the humans who had lived here before them.

Fen’harel had directed a year of sieges against the Capital, essentially waiting out supplies, and had ensured Elven victory. The elven tactics of guerrilla warfare against the underground catacombs had devastated the Imperium. Elven slaves of Tevinter rose up against their masters in hordes, their vast numbers added to Fen’harel’s forces, who had worked to quickly and quietly worked to free them. The magisters had attempted blood magic from their human slaves instead but found themselves overwhelmed sheer numbers of Elvhen.

For what chance, did mortals have against gods?

A roar erupted from the assembled elves. Fen’harel stood in front of them, proud of their achievements. A hand raised, quickly silenced them.

“My people! Today, five years ago, we won great and everlasting victory against Tevinter and indeed, all our human oppressors!” A cheer rose and Fen’harel let them celebrate before continuing.

“Five years since the Magisters of Tevinter fell. Five years since our glorious city, Uth’Revasan, was raised in its stead. The Vallasdahlen, the life-trees, grow strong in remembrance of our fallen kin. My brothers and sisters as you well know, today the judgement of the last of Tevinter’s magister will be delivered!”

An epic cry arose. “Like his peers, they shall be judged against for their sins against our people. Today, the final justice will be served.”

The cry of his people; “We are the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit!”

\---

 _Five years…_ Dorian idly thought. He had finally been tracked down by elven agents of Solas. _No, not Solas. Fen’harel,_ Dorian reminded himself. Five years since his beloved Tevinter fell and he had found himself on the run. For a time, he had been with The Iron Bull, been happy with The Chargers. They had sheltered him. He desperately hoped that the elves had been kind to them but for sheltering _him_? Dorian though idly that maybe at best, they had been ignored but worst…Dorian shuddered at the thought of what they could be sentenced to endure because of him.

It had been a week since his capture. Ambushed in the dead of night, Templar anti-magic used against him, a spell purge then annulment, effectively stunning him for a few precious moments. The elves had clearly planned his capture, swiftly locking him within the suppression cuffs while he was dazed. He remembers Bull roaring but the darkness of the night had hidden their ambushers. A holy smite and he was knocked out cold. When he awoke, he was far from Bull and the suppression cuffs were locked in place. He had been dressed in simple cotton pants and shirt but otherwise left alone. Once a day, food was delivered to his cell but the elf who delivered it ignored his questioning.

He idly tried to get himself comfortable in vain once more. His hands chained together in front of him, the runes shining brightly on the thick, heavy metal. He reached up to his neck; a similar piece of thick metal was anchored there, a collar. Dorian assumed that it too had runes that shone brightly. It was rather ingenious, runes that used his own magic against him. He had studied the markings while waiting in this cell; he concluded that the runes took their power from his own considerable well of mana and then blocked him from accessing it. Dorian, while despairing at the suppressing lock on his magic, had to admit he was impressed at its simplicity. 

He waited and wished for Bull, hoping he was still alive. He vaguely thought he could hear cheering above. Fen’harel must be addressing his fellow elves.

He started at a trio of guards loudly descending the stairs to his cell. Standing he decided to wait for them to address him.

“It is time _shemlen_ ,” vaguely Dorian noticed the lack of vallaslin, “Fen’harel will decide your fate.”

Two entered his cell, Dorian standing straight did not resist. That time was finished, his magic sealed, he had no weapons. They clipped his chained wrists directly to each other, restricting his movement there and then attached them to the collar. Two separate chains, one at each side, were attached to the collar, the runes melding the four pieces of metal into one piece. His hands were effectively trapped at his neck and the guards were waiting to lead him like an animal in front of the waiting crowds. He took deep breaths to calm himself, feeling strangely grateful to the elves beside him that waited.

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Be still _shemlen_.” 

Aware of the elves in front and back of him stiffly holding one of the chains to his neck, he stood still as the third elf clasped iron shackles around his ankles. There was enough slack to allow him to walk but he was effectively hobbled from running or fighting. Glancing down, he was not surprised to see them also glowing with runes.

“A final piece _shemlen_.” Glancing up, he couldn’t help but balk at the final item, neck jolting against the chains that were linked to his collar. It was a panel gag, the gag itself was small but it was the large rune on the front that had him panic. It would not permit any sound to be released from his mouth.

The guard noticed and smirked. “This can go on easily or it can hurt shem. It’ll be your choice.”

Dorian frowned and sighed softly, and ashamed, he opened his mouth to accept the gag. It seemed he would have no choice and no way to defend himself in his ‘trial’. The soft gag was inserted, a small cylinder of soft, wadded material. It sat shortly within his mouth, Dorian found he could still swallow comfortably and the soft material allowed him to close his mouth to a certain degree. A strap went around the back of his head and Dorian grunted silently as he felt the rune on the front activate and the strap tightened. Now mute and utterly helpless, he stood waiting for the guard’s further directions. 

“Come _shemlen_ Fen’harel awaits to pass judgement on your fate.” The guard walked out, the other two followed, Dorian forced to follow via the chains attached to his neck. They walked like this; one guard in front, two of either side of him. The clinking of his chains on his legs mortified him, as did the thought of so many people seeing him like this. Slowly the roaring of the crowd grew louder, until it was almost deafening.

Finally, he was led outside, a balcony overlooking the masses below. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. There were so many, he reddened in humiliation at being so publicly sentenced. The two guards stood by his side, holding firmly onto the chains connected to his collar.

“Dorian Pavus of Tevinter,” Solas acknowledged his presence but continued to address the mass below, “You are accused of keeping elves as chattel. You are accused of holding elven slaves, your family personally involved in the act of acquiring said elves and participated in the acquisition and disposal of an elven person with intent to reduce them to slavery.” 

Solas let the crowd scream their rage. Dorian shook within his bindings, shaking his head wildly at the accusations. To be sentenced for something he had grown up with and accepted yes, but had realised its injustice and actively protested against upon his ascension to the magisterium!

Solas continued, “You are accused of acts involved in the acquisition of slaves and abiding the act of trading or transporting slaves.” Screams of rage and threats filled Dorian’s ears. He shut his eyes in an attempt to block them out. 

“However,” the Dread Wolf paused and the crowd quieted, “I also acknowledge that you fought to change the bestial nature of Tevinter, right up to our _Enasalin_ , our victory!” The crowd cheered at the reminder that they had one. Solas stepped back and finally talked directly to Dorian himself.

“I find your sentiment and workings admirable but the Elvhen cannot forgive your past trespasses. The Court has decided it was too little, too late. You are hereby sentenced to be _Vhen_ , property of the Elvhen. However, in acknowledgement to your recent efforts and commitment within the Tevinter Magisterium and before, as an agent of the Inquisition, your access as _Vhen_ will be restricted to the personal will of myself.”

Dorian sagged in his restraints at the proclamation, relief at not being sentenced to public use warring with the knowledge that Solas had pretty much sentenced him to be a courtesan. He had seen what had happened to less liberal Magisters; shackled in the public stocks to be humiliated by their former slaves before being made tranquil. They now served in the lowest jobs that benefitted the Elvhen people.

“My _enaste_ , my honour guards will be allowed to request your service but other than that, you will belong to me.”

“Dorian of House Pavus of former Tevinter, you are hereby to be known simply as _Fenvhen_ , property of the wolf.”

A loud cheer erupted from the elves gathered. They cheered their approval at Fen’harel’s declaration and cheered at the sight of the last of the magisters receiving justice. Solas knew it to be an ironic justice, the slave race enslaving their masters. At least this way, he could protect Dorian to a certain degree. It wasn’t much but at least he would not be subjected to the merciless wiles of the public.

Dorian found himself feeling faint, the jeering of the crowd fading to a buzz in his ears. Vaguely he recognised that he was panicking. A yank on his collar and he stumbled, then blindly followed his Elvhen captors to his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revasan: "The place where freedom dwells".  
> Uth: long, forever, never ending, eternal.  
> Vhen: "belonging to the elves, the clans, elven society".  
> Uth’Revasan; The new capital of the Elves, built upon the ashes of Minrathous. “The Eternal Place of Freedom.”  
> Vallasdahlen: Life-trees. Trees planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom, that grew into a mighty wood.  
> Enaste: favor, approval
> 
> All translations from http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language


End file.
